Please Don't Say I Do
by Irony12
Summary: I always knew the day would come when Freddie Wentworth, the love of my life, would get married. I’d assumed the occasion would pass in blissful ignorance. I didn’t, however, think I’d be attending the ceremony, much less a bridesmaid. Modern Persuasion.
1. Prologue: Here Comes the Bride

_**Please Don't Say I Do**_

_Prologue_

I can pinpoint the exact moment my life fell apart.

I was coming home from work with a fresh stack of essays to grade written by my English II class and was hopping up the stairs to my townhouse, ironically enough humming "It's the End of the World As We Know It."

I remember finding my cell phone blinking on the table where I'd left it that morning and considering who on earth might have left me six messages. I picked it up, flipped it open, and frowned at the flashing number six on my screen.

The first two were from my older sister, asking what would cause strange men to come into their house, which she lived in with my father, and take away their "vital possessions for life." I shook my head and muttered under my breath, "Yes Lizzy, if you refuse to pay your taxes they will take your things." But it would never be of any use to tell her that. The Repo Man, in Elizabeth's world, was about as mythological as the Grimm Reaper.

The next two were from my younger sister, Mary. Apparently she was positive her husband was going to leave her… again.

My father had left me one. He wanted to know why I hadn't told him about these "supposed taxes."

None of those were the cause of my life falling apart. Repossession had been on the horizon for as long as I could remember. My father had been about as good with money as I was with hair care. (As in clueless.)

It was the sixth. From Mary's in-laws.

"Annie!" I heard Louisa screech over the phone. I wasn't totally shocked to hear from her. Lou and the rest of the Musgroves had lived next door to us since long before I'd been born. Our fathers used to fish together. Our mothers, before mine had died, had played Bunko together. I'd dated the oldest son, Charlie, briefly in High School, and our families had formed a permanent attachment when Charlie had married Mary. But I was just as close to the Musgroves as I was with my own family.

Lou and her twin sister, Haley, commonly called to catch me up on the goings-on in my hometown, Annapolis, since I'd moved to Baltimore.

"I have the absolute best news. I've fallen in love! And I'm getting married!"

I held the phone farther from my ear to help muffle the wretched screaming issuing from the tiny device.

"But any way, we were thinking we'd do the ceremony in about six months. Mom wants to do something big like one of those five day ceremonies, so you just have to be there!

"I'm just so happy," she continued to gush. "He's gorgeous and perfect and I've only known him for about three months, but when you know, you know. Right?"

I nodded. Yeah, I supposed she was right. I'd only ever known it once, but a lot of good that did me. Freddie and I had met over a simultaneous reach for a bag of Oreos at the local Meyers and I was smitten with his blue eyes and Naval uniform immediately. We were both in love by the time we'd left the grocery, sharing our bag of Oreos. Still, I was hardly the authority on the subject of love. I was the one that was dumb enough to let the love of my life slip through my fingers.

"Oh I can't wait for you to meet him. Fredrick Wentworth is the best thing that ever happened to me!"

_There._ That was the moment my life fell apart: Freddie Wentworth was getting married.


	2. Day One: Reintroductions

_**Please Don't Say I Do**_

"I wasn't looking for a lifetime with you  
And I never thought it would hurt just to hear  
'I do' and 'I do'  
And I do a number on myself  
And all that I thought to be  
And you'll be the one  
That just left me undone  
By my own, hesitation

"And for the million hours that we were  
well I'll smile and remember it all  
then I'll turn and go  
while your story's completed mine is a long way from done.

"Well I'm on a champagne high  
Where will I be when I stop wondering why  
On a champagne high  
I'd toast to the future but that'd be a lie  
On a champagne high, high"

-"Champagne High," Sister Hazel

_Day One_

There were a lot of things in my life that I'd never meant to happen.

I'd never meant to be a teacher. I've been, for as long as I could remember, one of those people that's so driven to save the world. I'd wanted to work for the Red Cross or join the Peace Corps or something as equally unselfish. I would have done it too, had my Aunt Russell not plopped me down, told me that my family needed me more than starving kids in Africa, and that no one likes a martyr.

It was scare tactics like that, that had kept me from doing a lot of things. I'd never meant to pierce my ears, but Mary had been scared to do hers and I had to go first to show her that it didn't hurt.

I'd never meant to do these things, but I was forced to do them. I'd never meant to go to college so close to home. I'd never meant to be Elizabeth's punching bag. I'd never meant to let the world control me. I'd never meant to be Daddy's scapegoat. I'd never meant to be Mary's crying shoulder.

I'd never meant to end things with Freddie. And I sure as hell, never meant to be coerced into attending his wedding to another woman.

* * *

_**Anne Elliot**_

"I'm so glad you're here," Mary shouted down the hall as soon as my elevator doors swung open. She rushed toward me, waddling in a dress that was far too tight for her.

I stood and waited for her to reach her destination, trembling under the immense weight from my two suitcases and hang-up bag. I hated that this wedding was going to be such a big to-do. Couldn't it just happen quickly? Like ripping off a band-aid, I just wanted it to end. Honestly, who needs a five-day wedding?

Mary finally got to me, glowering. I'd only just arrived. I wondered what I could have done to set her off. Suddenly her lip trembled and I knew whatever it was wasn't my fault. That was the "Charlie hates me!" lip tremble. "Charlie hates me!" she suddenly announced, them rested her head on my shoulder to give it a good cry.

I dropped my two bags and my hang-up bag slid off my arms in the process. I briefly considered that my dresses would get wrinkled, but I could worry about that at a time when my sister wasn't crying on my shoulder. I patted her reassuringly on the back. She'd never say it, but I knew it made her feel better when I did this because she relaxed and didn't slap my hand away like she would have done without hesitation.

"I'm sure Charlie doesn't hate you," I murmured softly, still patting her back and shifting her over in the hallway so an elderly couple could squeeze by. They eyed us funny and I felt slightly awkward.

"Yes he does," she replied, her voice muffled in my shoulder and unabashed in ignorance of the small scene we were creating. "And he thinks I'm fat."

"Charlie doesn't think you're fat."

"Do you?"

"Do I what?"

"Think I'm fat?"

"How could I possibly think you're fat?" This is the part where a normal person would have rolled their eyes, but Mary was pregnant, hormonal and self-conscience, and I'd been handling these situations for years. Since she was a baby actually.

"'Lizabeth thinks I'm fat."

"Lizzy thinks that Kate Moss is fat. You shouldn't worry so much about what Liz says." I blushed, and was glad Mary had her face obscured. I had once cared what Elizabeth thought. I'd always cared and look where that had gotten me: Attending the wedding of the man I love.

"My ankles are swollen and I don't fit into my dress."

"That's because you're pregnant. Not because you're fat."

"Pregnant, fat, it's the same thing."

I shrugged.

"See? It's true. I'm pregnant and fat and that's why Charlie hates me."

"If he hated you, would he have married you?" I reasoned. If there was one way to deal with Mary, reason was it. She could never argue with reason.

She peered up at me. "I suppose you could be right…"

This was my chance for the game-changing play: Diversion. "Speaking of Lizzy, where is she? She was supposed to check into my room with Daddy at noon. They almost gave my room away."

"She texted me to tell you that she and Daddy are going to New York for a few days with one of her friends."

I shook my head and clamped my slacked jaw closed. "They can't afford New York."

Mary shrugged. What did she know about finances?

As if on cue, Charlie popped his head out of their hotel room and called out to us. Say what you will, but Charlie has impeccable timing. He'd become so used to these little self-conscience episodes that he knew the exact amount of time that it took to let Mary cool down. He really was a nice guy and a good husband, and my jealousy that Mary had found someone so levelheaded and sweet-natured to help balance her out made me feel guilty.

I wanted that too.

* * *

_**Sophia Croft**_

My baby brother is getting married.

Might I just say it again for emphasis? _My baby brother is getting married._

Ok. Now that that's settled, let us get back to the present.

I flew in from India last night (a $1200 plane fair, bah!) to attend this wedding and I'm suddenly remembering why I hate the States so much. I've been sitting here, at this stupid get together amongst wedding guests (Tea or whatever.) and not one person, outside of my brother, has stopped to say hello. Plus I'm jet-lagged like crazy.

Now, sure. I could stand up, walk over to that group of tittering women and pretend that I care about the difference between white tulips and pink ones, but that sounds horribly painful, so instead I decide to head toward the bar and begin an in-depth character analysis of the bar tender.

"Gimme a White Russian without the milk or Kahlua," I request to the poor man who stands there rather timidly for a second before his face screws up in concentration and finally realization dawns. He lays out a shot glass and, with a simple nod, I'm downing my first shot of vodka for the night.

"Can I have one of those too?" a soft voice asks from beside me. I look over at the exhausted girl next to me and she and I share a rueful smile. Seems as though I'm not the only character in this play that isn't totally thrilled about this marvelous marriage…

I gesture to the bartender to hook me up with another one as well and we toast our miniature glasses before throwing them back. The slight girl chokes on the liquid while I just gulp it down and grimace.

This girl is as cute as a button, mid twenties I'm betting, and looks as though she carries the whole world on her shoulders. Forget the bartender—she's a character-study just waiting to happen. Although she wears a cutesy little sundress like the rest of the clones and on the outside she's just as prim and proper as the masses, her eyes glint sadly and her mousy brown hair droops instead of bouncing in the soft curls I'd expect. She looks positively heartbroken and I find it wholly fascinating.

"Sophia Croft," I announce, protruding a hand for her to take.

The wilted flower finishes choking on the shot of vodka, wipes her mouth on the back of her hand and a spark of recognition lights behind her eyes. "Sophia Croft?"

I prepare for the same old speal. "Like, oh my god, I totally loved your book!" or possibly, "Oh that article you wrote for the digest totally changed my perspective on sexism in the workplace," but I get something else entirely:

"You're Freddie's sister?"

Wow. This is a whole new world entirely. This is a place in which a best selling novelist is less notable than my brother. But this isn't the time to dwell on my lack of popularity amongst the Former Sorority Sisters of America. This could make things a bit more interesting. My ambiguity of reputation leaves plenty of room for creativity. I can be anyone here, just so long as I remember that I'm "Freddie's sister."

"I read your book."

Or maybe not.

I quickly hid my wince that my cover had been obliterated so quickly and did what I did best: dodged the subject entirely. "I think you're the first person here to call him Freddie. Everyone seems quite convinced he likes to be called Frederick, but I don't think I've called him that a day in his life."

The girl shrugged and looked away. I knew what she was doing immediately. I'd studied enough people to recognize it instantaneously: she was hiding something from me. Mousy girl gets more interesting by the second.

"I though you were living in India for the last decade," she commented, confirming the fact that she was dodging something. I almost shook my head. She was using my own techniques, and seemed quite practiced. Anyone else might have missed the whole thing.

I shrugged. It was odd that she knew that. Popular opinion seemed to state that I was off floating around the world in a hot air balloon. "Figured I should make an appearance for my baby brother's marriage." I smiled at the girl and she hastily tried to match my own grin, but was a bit too slow on the uptake. "Although," I added, leaning in conspiratorially, "rumor is, and this is between you and me, Freddie is still hooked on an old flame."

The girl gasped and her face lit up then quickly faded. It was times like this that I wished time had a rewind button. I'd love more than anything to figure out if that look was one of surprise, scandal, or hope. Perhaps all three?

"Annie!" another mousy, but severely pregnant, girl called across the room and my mysterious companion jumped and turned to face the voice. Before she had made the entire 180 to face the other girl, she was upon us and glowering down at Annie. "We're, like, going to be late for the dress fitting!"

Annie cowered in her presence and I could have sworn I could almost hear her mentally whimper. "Why do I have to go to the dress fitting? I already have a dress."

"Annie!" the pregnant girl groaned, exasperated that her sister wouldn't want to attend her dress fitting. "I need you there for moral support." She cast a brief look of contempt over Annie's shoulder, berating me for being so close to their conversation. "I don't want the other girls to laugh about how fat I am," she whispered.

I hid a chuckle. It takes some severe body issues to worry about your weight when you're carrying around what could only be a nine-month baby in your uterus.

Annie sighed heavily, but acquiesced to her sister's request.

"It was nice to meet you, Annie," I shot out there, hoping to catch her attention quickly before her needy sister swept her off. It was weird that I was sad to see her go. Perhaps I just couldn't let a mystery like this Annie girl wonder off without having figured her out quite yet. But we had four more days of "fun." The week was still young.

Annie looked back at me and smiled in what she could have only assumed was a genuine manner, but I still caught the sadness behind it. "Yes, you too Sophia."

* * *

_**Mary Musgrove**_

I don't understand the entire concept of pregnancy. Here I am, as bloated as a balloon, looking more like the Stay Puff Marshmallow Man than a girl. I'm fat and disgusting, and Annie's too polite to say anything, but the elevator reeks from all my silent farting.

I'd do anything to get this damn baby out of me as quickly as possible.

Suddenly the little alien living inside me kicked me right in the ovary and I winced and grabbed my stomach. Little bastard.

"Are you okay?" Annie asked, her eyebrows crunched together in confusion as I gasped for a breath and curled up around my stomach.

"No," I gasped. "Do I look like I'm okay?"

"Are you having contractions?" Annie asked levelly.

Was it wrong for me to want to smack her? Sure, she was about the closest thing I ever had to a mother and she was merely asking about my own well-being, but does she have to be so levelheaded and rational at all times? Does she have to worry about every single little thing?

"No," I snapped. "It just won't leave me alone."

Ugh. There it was: That hidden superior smile. Blah, blah _I'm Annie. _Blah, blah, _I'm ever so perfect. _Blah, blah, _and I'm so much smarter. And more self-righteous. _Blah, blah _your husband wanted to marry me first._

"Do you want to lie down?"

Blah, blah,_ and did I mention that I care about everyone, including stupid starving children and war veterans? _

"No, I just want you to leave me alone Annie!" I screeched, fed up with her and her disgusting perfections, not mention this sharp pain through my abdomen.

Annie pressed the button for the floor where our rooms were and pierced her lips.

"What are you doing?" I asked, pressing hard on the spot on my stomach. It helped ease the sharp pains and I felt the baby relax inside me.

Annie cast me a weary glance. "You wanted me to go away."

I rolled my eyes. Blah, blah _I'm Annie and I know so much better than you. Mary, don't you know that you're _so _stupid?_

"You can't leave me. I need you," I whined just as the elevator doors slid open on our floor.

Annie took a deep breath and studied me momentarily, hesitating over her options. I smirked, knowing I'd won before I'd even said anything. I leaned forward and pressed the "close doors" button, before Annie could even officially give her consent, and, predictably, she made no move to stop me.

Annie may have everything, but there was one thing she was born without and that's a bit of backbone.

* * *

_**Annie Elliot**_

It was sick what they were proposing. Sick, sick, sick, sick, sick.

"No, I can't," I replied feebly, shaking my head and holding my arms out as if to guard me from the sight of that horrible canary yellow gown.

"Please, Annie. We need you," Lou pleaded, still approaching me, brandishing the disgusting lace concoction at me as if she were warding off evil. "Hen absolutely refuses to do it and there's absolutely no one else. You're our last resort."

Oh, sure flatter a girl with songs of her praise. The last resort, it's just what I've always wanted to be! Goodie.

"Please, Lou," I gasped, shooting in the dark and laying out my final stand of free will. I couldn't do this. It was bad enough having to _attend _Freddie's wedding, but having to _participate_? It's just wrong. It's wrong on so many levels. "I really can't do it."

How was it my fault that Henrietta, Lou's sister, had gotten her period and therefore refused to perform her bridesmaid duties? If you ask me, that's just a lame excuse, but no on ever asks me now do they?

Lou's face fell in pure terror and she began to hyperventilate quite profusely. Her mother quickly jumped into action and handed her daughter a brown paper bag. While Lou and the rest of the bridal party tried to calm down about this collapse in the fragile infrastructure of wedding bliss, Mary corralled me into the corner I'd slowly been backing into all along.

"What is your problem, Annie?" she snapped, hovering over me fiercely and bumping against me with her protruding belly. "Lou is asking for your help in a moment of need and you honestly have the audacity to refuse?"

I wanted to run away and cry, but instead I was cowering in fear of my younger sister, my back pressed against a three way mirror and my own image surrounding me in pure terror. Sure, it would be insane to expect Mary's support on this issue, considering she was one of the many who had yet to realize that Lou's Fredrick and my Freddie was in fact the same person. I wasn't even sure if she'd ever realize it. Mary had only met Freddie for about ten seconds on the exact same night I'd broken things off, and he'd been storming out of our house in a rage of fury. I hardly expected her to recognize him as the love of my life.

And a sick little part of me hoped that she did. It was there, that creepy little voice in the back of my brain, silently praying that someone would stand up and say that Freddie couldn't marry Lou. Freddie was still in love with Annie Elliot.

And Freddie's crazy sister wouldn't count. From what Freddie told me back in college, she lived her life in a fantasy world and had spent most of the last decade tripping on mushrooms somewhere in India. Plus, I'm pretty sure she was making that up back at the luncheon. That is, unless she recognized me…

"You have to do it Annie!" Mary suddenly began to squeal. "If you don't do it I will never speak to you again!"

Suddenly, all the fight drained out of me. Resistance was futile. In the end, Lou and Mary would get their way, just like they always did. Plus, I just had to help out. No one else was going to give up so I was going to be the first chess piece to fall.

"Okay," I sighed, signing my official contract with the devil.

Suddenly, as if by magic, Lou stopped hyperventilating and squealed in ecstasy. I was starting to get the impression that this whole damsel in distress thing was going to be Lou's specialty in life. "Great!" she squeaked, tossing her brown bag aside and flipping her long blond hair over her shoulder. Her mother grabbed the bag out of thin air and folded it up for the next "utter fiasco."

Bitsy or Kitsy, or whatever Lou's Maid of Honor's name was, came charging at me, her arms filled with that horrid yellow dress, and practically shoved me into the dressing room behind a simple silk curtain. The weird part was that she refused to leave, and instead manhandled me into my puffy straight jacket.

She humped in accomplishment as soon as the zipper was up and examined me fiercely. I felt naked, which was odd considering the infinite number of layers to this dress. "You're no Heidi Klum, but it'll do," she pronounced, after ripping a couple of hairs out of my bun to frame my face in a mock up-do.

Then, without warning, she shoved me back through the silk curtain to face the crowd of awaiting ladies.

Mary grinned at me proudly, obviously glad to see me so out of my element, and Lou cast me a calculating look before piercing her lips and nodding her head towards the three way mirror. Once again, I felt Bitsy pushing me across the room and settling me right in front of the glass as if I were on display.

Lou, Bitsy, and shop attendant all began pulling at me from all directions. "It needs to be let out here. She has a bit of a tummy." "Pull it in on the chest. I never realized your breasts were so small." "Someone sure does have a bit of junk in her trunk." "You're rather short, Annie, we'll have to get you some taller shoes." "Annie, have your thighs always been this big?"

"Lou!" someone shouted and I jumped, the attendant having punctured me with one of her needles in her distraction. "You have to hide the dress. Fredrick's coming!"

Suddenly all the girls began to hustle around me and the attendant rushed off with a white puffy bundle of fabric, leaving her pins jabbing through my skin. The ladies too swarmed, forming an almost semi-circle around me so that my view was blocked completely.

"Fredrick, what are you doing here?" I could hear Lou ask coyly as I tried to stand on my tip-toes to see what was happening.

"Uh? I thought you said we had a tux fitting at five." I knew that voice. That was Freddie. It sent shivers down my spine and paralyzed me. I wasn't so sure I wanted to see him anymore. I just wanted to sink back behind that silk curtain and seek refuge in my dressing room.

The ladies all giggled simultaneously. "No, honey, five o'clock tomorrow!" Ew. _Honey?_ She calls him _honey?_

"Sorry, Fred, that's my fault. I was in charge of the schedule," a rather glum and unfamiliar male voice apologized.

"Did you lovely ladies happen to find a new escort for Benwick here?" said a third male voice. This one I recognized. I'd only met Freddie's best friend, Harville, once in my life, but he had a memorable, jovial kind of tone that had stuck with me all these years.

"Oh yes! We did!" Lou gushed. "Mary's sister's doing it. We were just doing her fitting as you came in."

"I didn't know Mary had a sister," Harville replied curiously.

"Oh yes!" Lou continued. "She's quite lovely. Would you like to meet her?"

I felt quite bad for this poor Mary's sister, having to be paraded around as if she were a thing on display. Or at least I did until I realized that Mary's sister was in fact me.

Once again I felt Bitsy tugging me forward and coercing me in front of yet another crowd of people. I was dragged, quite literally, to the front of the crowd, and, had it been in my nature to kick and scream, I would have.

I couldn't face him. Not like this. Not while wearing this horrible yellow dress. Not ever.

"Boys, might I introduce my good friend, Annie Elliot," Lou pronounced, completely ignorant of what she'd just done. Totally unawares that the announcement she'd just made warranted no introduction.

"It's very nice to meet you," ground the morose voice, whom I assumed to be my escort, Benwick.

"Likewise," I replied, forcing myself to smile and keeping my eyes focused squarely on Benwick and no one else.

"I'm Captain Harville. Just call me Harvy," said the other man, obviously not realizing that we'd met before. I shook his hand politely and still kept my eyes averted.

"And this is my future husband," Lou pronounced after a lengthy silence in which Freddie said nothing and I remained focused on the floor, "Captain Fredrick Wentworth."

I heard Freddie clear his throat and recognized this nervous tick instantly. It was Freddie all right and with a simple, "Yeah, we've met," the dreaded "introduction" was over. I finally forced myself to look at him, only to see him kiss Lou softly on her temple and make a quick excuse. "Lou, honey, I'm afraid we're pretty exhausted from the day. Do you mind sorting out the schedule with Benny while Harvy and I go take a quick nap?"

Lou smiled up at him and I felt the back of my eyes prickle. He didn't still love me. He didn't still care. He _really was _marrying Lou.

And with a simple, "Yeah, sure, go rest up," from Lou he was gone.

And I was left, standing there in an ugly yellow gown, feeling like an idiot.

* * *

_**Fredrick Wentworth**_

"Freddie, Freddie! Wait a second!"

I turned and scowled at my best friend as I stormed down the hall and as far from that accursed gathering as was physically possible. Was it just me, or were the walls closing in?

"What's wrong?" he asked dumbly as if he didn't know.

"What's wrong?" I echoed. "_What's wrong_!" I repeated again, my anger rising considerably.

Harvy shrugged casually. "Yeah. What's wrong?"

I began pacing across the lobby of the hotel. Harvy was patient enough to wait for me to get on with my frustration. I kind of wished he hadn't. It honestly might have been nicer had he just left. Then I wouldn't have had to discuss the matter.

Eventually I stopped pacing and decided that Harvy was too much of a prick to get fed-up and leave. He'd persist until he wore me down. The Navy can do that to you. It teaches you determination. "It's Annie," I relinquished, defeated and too panicked to hold it in much longer.

Harvy tensed. "The bridesmaid?

I closed my eyes and counted to ten. Sometimes I really wonder why I'm friends with Harv. He can drive me insane. "No, no. Listen to me. _Annie_ is here, _Annie_ the love of my life. _Annie _is the bridesmaid!"

"_The_ Annie?"

I nodded.

"The same Annie you were in love with?"

"Yes."

"As in the girl that you swore you were going to spend the rest of your life with until she broke things off for absolutely no reason?"

"Well, her family persuaded her to."

"The same Annie that broke your heart into a million pieces, stomped on them, lit them on fire and scattered the remaining pieces at sea? She's here? At your wedding to another woman?"

"Yes!" I shouted, growing quite fed-up with this game.

"Dude," Harvy supplied, "you're screwed."

"Yes Harvy. Thank you for pointing that out."

* * *

_I had to cut some characters, Admiral Croft, but kept as many as I could and still manage this thing in five chapters. Ther will only be five chapters--one per day. I'm trying to different perspectives to help accomplish what would normally take me a bit of time. So this chapter was mostly introductions and we'll be getting down to business for the next one._

_But I'm going to have to ask for a couple of days (weeks possibly) for the next update. Although, if youwanted it sooner I'm sure I could be persuaded..._


	3. Day Two: Dilemmas

_**Please Don't Say I Do**_

"Eleven shades or red  
all different  
I wrote this song for you  
and I don't even know your name  
when were my eyes last sleeping  
thinking of you all the time  
I talk to myself stop stuttering  
you bring all of this on yourself  
you bring all of this on yourself

"Oh I was a million miles away  
oh I could have watched you smile for days  
I'm the one you wanted not the one you started with."

-"Eleven Shades of Red," Samantha Tobey

_Day Two_

There are twenty-three things that only Freddie Wentworth knows about me. That's twenty-three things that my own family doesn't even know. Twenty-three things I entrusted to Freddie Wentworth and Freddie Wentworth alone.

He's the only person that knows that it was me that switched Elizabeth's shampoo for red hair dye back during her sophomore year. Only he knows that I used to publish poetry in my college's Literary Magazine under the pen name Cheyenne. Only he knows that I have a tattoo of a pink heart on my left butt cheek as a secret act of rebellion.

Only he knows my secret obsession with Full House reruns and the fact that I own every season of Charmed. Only he knows that I used to sew buttons back onto my father's shirts when he'd knock them off. Only he knows my severe weakness for Oreos, double-stuff especially.

He knows that I still believe in fairies. He knows that I once kissed a frog, just to make absolutely sure that he wasn't a prince. He knows that I was actually trying to fly the time I "fell" off the roof of our house. He knows that, despite growing up in Maryland, I don't actually like crab. He knows that I think Elizabeth is the most self-absorbed person in the world, but I'm secretly jealous of her lazziez faire lifestyle.

Twenty-three things that I trusted to Freddie. One of them just happened to be my heart.

* * *

_**Annie Elliot**_

"He's here," I hissed into the phone, clutching it as tightly to my ear as I possibly could.

"He's with you right this moment?" my Aunt Russell whispered back through the telephone softly, as if Freddie could hear her every word.

"No, not here. But _here," _I clarified.

"Well, of course he's there. It is his wedding." Aunt Russell chuckled and I felt my eyes prickle in frustration. Here was the only woman of whom I could think to confide my dilemma with, and she was laughing at me.

"If I'd wanted to be laughed at, I would have called Lizzy," I muttered in what was the closest thing to angry that I could muster. I'm not normally an angry person. I can't discipline my students. I can't stand-up to my sisters. I couldn't even bring myself to take a bite out of my chocolate Easter Bunny. Facing the next four days, however, made me feel like... like I could actually cause physical harm to somebody.

Although, I'd probably feel really guilty afterwards and stay with them to make sure they were alright. Or possibly get them an ice pack.

"I'm sorry," Aunt Russell apologized. "I just don't understand why you went if you didn't want to see him."

I bit my lip. "Because Mary asked me to," I lied. It wasn't a total lie. Mary had asked. "And I owe it to Lou." That wasn't _exactly _a lie either. But if I were being completely honest, neither of those things were the reason I came.

I came because I wanted to say goodbye. I came because... well, wouldn't it be easier to see him one last time on my own terms, rather than bump into him at some inane family dinner with his beautiful wife and their three kids? Wouldn't it be better to witness, with my own eyes, his marriage to another woman than spend the rest of my life wondering? Wouldn't it give me closure after all these years?

Aunt Russell let out a derisive snort. "You don't owe that girl anything. Remember that time you gave her CPR when she fell into the pool. You saved her life. If anything she owes you a thing or two."

I blushed. "Saving someone's life doesn't make them indebted to you. It's just something you do. I would have done the exact same thing even had she been a total stranger that I'd never see again."

I could just picture Aunt Russell rolling her eyes. I know how much she hates me when I "go all noble." She doesn't understand how my aspirations don't go beyond helping children and sacrificing myself. She's got a little Elizabeth in her, but too much sense to actually believe herself to be the center of the universe.

"Annie, if you can't handle it, you shouldn't do it," she admonished, still, even after all these years, trying to cure me of my hopeless naïveté. "No one can force you to do this."

I gulped. She was so wrong. They could and they had. "I can't back out now. I already told Lou I'd be a bridesmaid."

There are certain times when complete and utter silence can be comforting. This was not one of those moments. I sat there, on my hotel bed, still in my pajamas, despite the clock reading 11:13 while simultaneously blinking at me to tell me that I was already too late to make it to brunch.

There were two viable options to explain the silence: either Aunt Russell had died of a very quiet and sudden stroke, or she was too flabbergasted to reply. "Aunt Russell?"

Suddenly I could hear her labored breathing again. "Please, Annie, tell me you've recently developed some sort of sick sense of humor."

I bit my lip. "It isn't that horrible, is it?"

Aunt Russell echoed my first reaction. "No. It's worse than horrible. It's sick. Sick beyond comprehension."

I listened to her rant on about how sick it exactly was, then how stupid I was for permitting such a predicament, and finally a plea for me to promise not to do anything irrational. But honestly, when have I ever done _anything_ irrational (heart tattoo excluded)?

"You're in serious waters here, Annie," she confessed, her voice grim and fearful. "I'd tell Mary or someone what's going on."

"I'm not telling Mary. That'd be like broadcasting it over Youtube and I don't think Freddie's told Lou about our history," I responded.

"I'm just saying, Annie," she gave one last attempt, "maybe you're going to need a bit of help on this one."

* * *

_**Louisa Musgrove**_

There are some days in which I just _adore_ being me.

I took my time getting ready this morning, carefully applying makeup, curling my eye lashes, and blowing my hair into a perfectly straight curtain of blonde. What did I care if I was late? The party can't start without the hostess. In fact, there'd be no reason for the party at all, were it not for me.

In time, I made my way down to brunch, my ringlet curls bouncing with the same joy that was radiating from every pore of my body. I was born to be adored. I have the perfect innocent face that exceeds any expectations of the typical girl-next-door stereotype. I'm the epitome of a blushing bride, and plan to relish in an entire four more days of worshipping my mere existence. And my darling fiance, of course.

Isn't that just the nicest word you've ever heard? _Fiance!_ It just kind of rolls off the tongue. Even after we're married, I think I'll continue to call him that. It just sounds so much cooler than husband.

_Husband..._ I suddenly shiver. It's awfully cold in here. There are goosebumps on my arm. Perhaps I could bat my eyelashes at guest services and request a better elevator temperature. But the gust of cold air passes quickly, my goosebumps subside, and before I know it the elevator doors are swinging open to the lobby.

I absolutely love hotels. I think it would be great to just live in a hotel. Perhaps I could discuss it with my fiance. I'm sure he'd do anything to make me as happy as a swallow... or some sort of senselessly happy bird that chirps away without a care in the world and an absolutely lovely fiance.

Just the thought of my future happiness makes me happy. Before I know it I'm whistling as I stroll casually down the hallway and imagine my picturesque life with my fiance as we put our lovely blond children to bed and I receive praise from my cheerful neighbor for my expertise in finding a cook that can make a perfect cremebrule. My life is like something out of a book. I wish everyone could be as happy as I am!

"Good morning everyone!" I announce loudly as I throw open the double doors and face my crowd of adoring well-wishers. As expected, they all cheer my long-awaited and highly anticipated arrival.

"Good morning," most of the room chorused back, overjoyed by my dramatic entrance and the free buffet.

"More like good afternoon," my fat/pregnant sister-in-law grumbled instead, thinking her voice had been drowned by the rest of the group's excitement. I shot her a sickly smile and made sure to instruct the seamstress to add a couple of extra, horrendous ruffles to her bridesmaid gown. Cross me, Mary, I dare you.

I took my rightful and waiting seat at the head of the table, smiling at my dear fiance and placing my napkin delicately on my lap. It wasn't until this moment that I noticed his distraction. What was so important that he had yet to question my tardiness? Or notice the fit of my dress across my chest?

"Honey," I asked, my voice coated in sugar to prevent the underlying bitterness from seeping out. "Is there something wrong?"

"Huh?" he grunted, tearing his eyes away from the empty seat beside Mary as she scowled at my brother for drinking coffee in her presence and rubbed her rotund belly.

I rolled my eyes at him, subtly trying to display my frustration. This was MY wedding. I just didn't have the patience to worry about my fiancé's short attention span. His task for the week was easy. Dote upon me, focus upon me, and worship me. What was so hard about that?

"I asked if you were okay," I stated, my exasperation clear now. I rolled my eyes again, just to make sure the message was conveyed effectively.

My fiancé's eyes flickered back to the now quarreling couple and the oddly empty chair, then right back on their rightful location-me. His eyebrows furrowed and his lower lip protruded slightly in thought. I wondered what he could possibly have to think about that was so perplexing. Surely I have so much more on my plate and yet you don't see me ignoring my beautiful, future significant other.

"Do you think I could talk to you for a second?" he asked, his eyes flickering to my maid of honor, Betsy, who was paying a bit more attention to our conversation than to her meager breakfast consisting of three grapes. I smiled at her, glad that she remembered that she had a dress to fit into in four days.

Freddie nudged me out of my calorie budgeting for the day and jerked his head back in Betsy's direction. "_Alone_," he added, obviously still intent on this discussion.

I rolled my eyes once again, just to remind him that I was a busy girl and just couldn't ignore my adoring guests, but followed him out of the lounge nonetheless.

He stopped on the other side of the door, keeping his mouth zipped until the door was firmly shut. He took a deep breath and eyed the twittering women that were wandering down the hallway. As soon as they were out of earshot, he took another deep breath.

I figured if this little conversation was going to go at this pace, I'd be lucky if we were finished in time for my walk down the aisle.

"Out with it, honey," I snapped, tapping my foot impatiently on the plush carpet. I wonder if I could have this installed in my house...

He twisted his neck to the side. It cracked. I shuddered. He knows how much I hate it when he does that! Before I could tell him exactly how annoyed I was, he finally spoke.

"What do you know about Annie Elliot?"

I clicked my jaw in frustration. "You brought me all the way out here to question me on the history of my neighbor? Honestly, Freddie, it's like you fail to notice how much stress I'm under. You're totally unbelievable!"

Freddie reached out and grabbed my shoulders, hoping to calm me and pin my arms down so I would stop smacking him across the shoulder. I stopped as soon as he made contact, knowing it was fruitless to fight his strength.

"You're not listening to me," he intoned.

I wriggled in his grasp. "Of course not, Freddie. I'm far too busy for your stupid wonderings. If you want to get to know Annie, then you should ask her yourself!"

"I can't do that," he replied with force, pinning my arms down tightly, but not threateningly. He can be commanding and gentle at the same time. It's actually rather sexy. "And would you stop squirming!" he commanded.

My body relaxed. It's more than sexy, it's really, really sexy. I quirked a smile, suddenly rather turned on. "I'm sorry. I lost my temper," I purred.

My fiance finally dropped his grip and began to rub his temples. "Yeah, no kidding."

"You're not mad, are you honey?" I asked, my voice husky as I ran my hand softly down his biceps.

"I'm not mad," he replied, slightly stiff but softer than his last statement.

"Good, baby," I throatily sounded back. "I wouldn't want you to be mad at me." I took a step closer and pressed my torso against him, sliding my arm around his waist.

"I'm not mad," he repeated again, now almost a whisper as I pressed airy kisses on his neck and nibbled his earlobe gently. I felt his breath against my skin.

Without any indication as to why, my fiance stiffened and nearly threw me from his arms. I pouted momentarily before turning to face the crown of Annie Elliot's head. Her face was pointedly staring at the plush carpet causing her hair to obscure her entire face. I giggled in romantic embarrassment into my fiancé's shoulder.

"I'm sorry," Annie's voice apologized from somewhere beneath her curtain of hair. "You were blocking the door.

I giggled again as my fiance awkwardly adjusted both our stances so as to allow Annie room to enter. The slight girl slipped through a tiny crack in the door just as quietly as she appeared. My amused eyes sought my fiancé's, hoping to share a laugh with him. But his pale, hard face tightened as soon as I absorbed his mortification.

"You really shouldn't be so embarrassed, honey," I giggled.

He shot me a cold look. "I'd like to get back to my breakfast now," he said stonily and followed Annie Elliot back into the breakfast foyer.

* * *

_**Freddie Wentworth**_

Karma.

I've never been one to believe in the divine, supernatural, or all-powerful. But honestly, is there any other explanation for it? Obviously, I've done something horrible in my lifetime or a past one.

I'm being punished.

I stared out the giant glass windows that lined the entire north-eastern wall of this lounge, staring out at the Academy and the bordering Chesapeake as the afternoon sun glittered over the water and brick buildings.

See this? This is simple. I wish everything were this simple. Yes, sir. No, sir. The Navy's got it right. Order and obey. Hear that, brain? Hear that, heart? Order and obey.

"Pretty, isn't it?" my future brother-in-law stated blandly taking a heavy seat in the wooden chair beside mine.

I nodded and allowed my eyes to absorb the spectacle he'd become. He was a complete contradiction to the glowing sunshine that enveloped the otherwise deserted lounge.

He took a deep breath, rubbed his bloodshot, exhausted eyes, and smiled meekly at me. "Cigar?" he asked, reaching into the pocket of his sport-coat.

I replied to the negative, but grabbed the proffered object.

He grinned, pleased with my concession, and pulled out another cigar for himself as well as a lighter.

"Got a rabbit in there too?" I asked, eyeing his pocket of unknown depth.

He chuckled jovially. It seemed weird. He never laughed like that when his wife was around.

"I was supposed to be saving these for when the baby came," he stated, his laughter long passed, despite my ignorance of the event. I was still too preoccupied with its presence to begin with. He twirled the cigar between his fingers. "Mary would kill me if she knew I was smoking."

I shrugged. "Mary seems poised to kill you no matter the circumstances."

He laughed again. It made me grin as well. It had a nice booming echo to it.

"She's not nearly as difficult as she seems." Once again the laughter had died and I was still too lost in thought to notice.

I observed the dark circles of exhaustion under his eyes and the way every hair on his head stood on end. Every mannerism shouted out in exhaustion and stress. "I'm sure she's a real walk in the park,"I replied frankly. Too frankly. I winced at my daring.

He conceded with another grin, this one lasting longer than the rest. "She has her moments of terror, as you no doubt have noticed."

I gave him a compassionate tilt of the head in response.

"She's just nervous."

"About?" I questioned.

Charlie took his eyes off the town below us and placed them instead on me. "About the baby. About motherhood. About her family. She's always been the irresponsible, youngest child. Now responsibility is upon her and she can't dish it off on her sister."

"Why can't she?"

Charlie snorted. "Well Lizzy's up shit creek without a paddle and she's taken their father along for the ride. And poor Annie. I don't think Annie could handle any more filial responsibility. The entire family rests on her shoulders and it's only a matter of time before she crumbles."

I contemplated this. Of course I knew it. I knew that everything always fell to Annie because no one else ever cared enough to do it. It had always seemed to me more like the entire family forced her to do everything for them, but really they _needed _her to.

"I must be giving you this horrible image of marriage," Charlie added, studying my distant look. "Didn't mean to scare the shit out of you, Fredrick."

"Do you think it's worth it?" I asked, still deep in thought. "Marriage, that is."

Charlie shrugged. "Hell if I know. Depends on the girl, I guess. Mary and I have more bad times than good. But I think the good things more than compensate for the discrepancy."

He grinned for the final time and took a long puff on his cigar. "Plus it could always be worse. Have you ever met the oldest Elliot? Lizzy makes her sister's look about as screwed up as a rainbow on a summer's day."

* * *

_**Sophia Croft**_

Alas! Humanity!

After twenty minutes of eavesdropping on the pregnant woman berating her husband over the lingering smell of smoke on his jacket, I finally spotted my reason for attending this lovely dinner event. Other than my _darling_ brother that is, who was corralled by a group of his future mother-in-law's grabby friends (which was also rather amusing).

"Annie Elliot," I hissed across the room, hoping to catch her attention before her fretting, pregnant sister could snatch her away.

The girl whipped her head around, looking throughly baffled. I hissed her name again. She rubbed her finger in her ear, assuming she was hearing things. I love it when I convince people that they're crazy.

Despite my amusement, I make my presence known to the girl by conspicuously waving her over to my table.

"Hello, Sophia," she says in what would normally be assessed as cheerful, but wasn't fooling me.

"You were late to breakfast," I point out, tucking away her deception for another time.

She nods. "That I was."

"Why?"

She shrugs. For some reason I don't think it means that she doesn't know, or that it is of little importance. I think it means she doesn't want to tell me.

Despite my curiosity, I notice that the subject has hit a brick wall. She's not going to proceed. Instead she takes a long sip on her cranberry and vodka, looking around the ballroom-esque accommodations for _darling _Louisa's fancy cocktail dinner. A rehearsal for the rehearsal dinner? Oh please!

I don't want our conversation to end. Here I feel as though I've met probably the most interesting person at this entire _shin-dig_ (besides Freddie's friend Ben, who, if rumor proves right, just lost his girlfriend in a scuba-diving accident- you can't even make this shit up!). For the sake of my own sanity, and intrigue, I have to figure this girl out. "So tell me about my future sister in law?" I ask, grasping at straws.

She winces and chokes on her drink. Perhaps I've hit a nerve.

"I probably can't tell you anything you didn't know already." She fidgets with her necklace. I enjoy observing her little tick. It humanizes her. It helps with my characterization.

"Haven't you known her since she was born?" I'm prodding now. I want desperately to know her thoughts on Lou. Her reluctance to give them only dangles the bait. If she were merely going to gush like all the other ninny's here, she would have done so promptly.

"Yes," she replies now fingering the engraved gold heart on her chain. I feel cheated by her monosyllabic answer. My interest notches a couple of levels higher.

I blink at her, contemplating how best to proceed. Eventually I decide that beating around the bush has gotten me nowhere thus far. Blunt seems like my final option.

"So what is the story behind the mysterious Annie Elliot?" I ask.

She takes a deep breath and rubs her gold heart with her thumb. It reminds me a bit of my mother and I feel a tinge of familiarity. "I don't have a story. I'm just plain old Annie."

I roll my eyes. "That's a pretty locket, plain old Annie. My mother used to have one just like it."

Her eyes grow wide and she quickly drops the jewelry back under the neck of her dress.

A moment of silence rings through our already thin conversation. "Alright then, Annie. If you won't give a dog a bone, expect to get your leg chewed off. Or in this case your ear."

She laughs softly. Unexpectantly. I grin, glad I've broken through at least one layer.

"What does that even mean?" she asks, humor still etched in her voice.

I grin. "It means I'm going to tell you a story about my life. Pick an age. Pick a year. Pick whatever! And if I don't have an amusing tale of woe, then I'll just have to make one up."

"How would that tell me anything about you?"

I shrug. "A person is only as interesting as their own delusions, and I just happen to be the most delusional person in this room," I proclaim and she laughs again.

"I'd like one from your childhood," she concludes after her chortle has passed.

I swirl my glass of red wine and rifle through my brain for a good one. "Ok. I got one. Have you ever been to Disney World?"

* * *

_**Ryan Harville**_

"You know, Annie Elliot is really attractive," I state for no other reason than I've just noticed. She's talking to Fred's rather odd sister, her head thrown back in laughter, a glass of some pink drink sloshing around in its glass, her hair falling loose from its tight twist at the nape of her neck.

My two companions look up. They'd both been examining the tablecloth rather morosely for the past five minutes. My comment had finally awakened their distracted interest.

"Who?" Benny asks, looking around the room tiredly while Fred takes-in the sight before returning his gaze to the table with a vengeance.

I roll my eyes at both their predictability. I know this is hurting Fred. I know the last thing he wants to do is talk about Annie Elliot. And yet I can't bring myself to stop.

"_Annie Elliot!"_ I say with emphasis, hoping to jog Benny's memory. For god's sake, they'd only met just yesterday! But of course he wouldn't remember. He's been walking around this place like a ghost. "The bridesmaid you'll be escorting down the aisle!" I practically shout.

Benny's eyebrows knit together as he tries desperately to remember. "Which is she?" He's looking around again.

"Four o'clock. The pretty girl talking to Fred's sister," I describe. I watch Fred dip his head a bit lower.

"The one laughing?"

I look over. "Yeah."

"Nice," he comments dryly, as if he still cares that women are attractive. There's only one girl he wants to look at. But look away, Benny! She's not there anymore.

"You should introduce yourself," I add. "Maybe take her for a spin around the floor. Turn on the old charm?"

Fred looks up from the table as if on autopilot. "Ben's never had charm," he says before dropping his head again.

I want to yell at both of them. _Get over it! Move on! _But I imprison the shouting in my own mind. They don't want to hear it. They don't want to listen.

"I could," Benny protests against Fred's insult. "If I wanted to."

I wink at him. "Prove it," I dare.

He scowls, growls, hesitates, but gets up. He storms over to the poor girl in a huff. I watch him awkwardly interrupt Annie and Sophia's conversation. They look at him in confusion, wondering what he wants. They shake hands. Annie smiles. Sophia rolls her eyes. And finally, Annie gets up as Benny leads her out onto the dance floor.

I grin in achievement. I did it! I got the most sorry excuse for a heartbroken fool to dance with a pretty girl. I continue to silently gloat while Annie directs Benny on hand placement, then slowly leads him across the dance floor.

I look at my best friend, proud of my accomplishment.

He's scowling, but not at the table. "She hates to dance," he growls. I don't even have to follow his line of vision to know who _she _is.

I want to punch him in the face. Or slap him like they do in the movies. "She seems to be having fun to me," I point out as she laughs at Benny for stepping on her feet.

"She never laughs that much."

"Are you begrudging her happiness?"

He redirects his glare. This time it's at me.

"Don't get mad at me!" I protest, holing up my palms in mock-surrender. "I was merely trying to get Benny out of his chair. In case you've been too wrapped up in your own problems to notice, our best friend's been a bit depressed since Kim."

He softens. He feels guilty. I suddenly feel guilty as well. It's his wedding and here I am throwing his past into his face.

It's just that... well he's supposed to have moved on. The Annie wound should have healed. How can he ever expect to marry Lou if he's still this heartbroken?

I take a deep breath and decide to take a stab at being philosophical. "I hate to say it, Fred, but if a decision is this hard to make, then it's probably the wrong one."

He's confused. Hell! Even I'm confused. I vow to refrain from further intelligent thought and maintain a conscience concerned with only beer and sex. Life is so much easier under those terms. I take a deep breath again, pat Fred solidly on the back, and set off to find a conversation that's far less complicated. To find a life that's far less complicated.

* * *

_Whew! I know! It's been months, ages, decades! But I'm still alive... in case you were curious. And I'm still trying desperately to write this! I've been working on this chapter for weeks and I think I got it where I wanted it. Sophia was extremely difficult to write this time and it took me like five tries to finally find the right voice for Lou (which still isn't a subtle as I hoped, but maybe that's just me!)._

_There's nothing else to say, but I'M SO SORRY! And I just hope people are still reading this!_


	4. Day Three: Insults and Attention

_**Please Don't Say I Do**_

"I want to tell you something  
That I should've, long ago  
I wish that you and I had those kids  
Maybe bought us that home  
I wish that we were stumbling fast  
Down on Irving and 14th street  
I wish that we were still in your room  
In your bed and you were holding me

"'Cause there ain't no way I'll ever stop from lovin' you now  
There ain't no way I'll ever stop from lovin' you now  
No there ain't no way and I'm gonna try and show you somehow  
Somehow, and I'm gonna someday."

-"Somehow, Someday," Ryan Adams

_Day Three_

Do you ever get that feeling like you're falling?

When I was little I used to have this dream that I was dancing on the ledge of a fountain. I'd be wearing a brightly colored raincoat while twirling around a pink umbrella like a character from "Singing In the Rain." I'd dance around on the ledge, happy as a bumblebee. But inevitably all the dreams ended in the same abrupt manner: I'd slip on a puddle of water pooling on the ledge of the fountain and tumble backwards, my feet flying out from under me. And I'd jump awake before I'd even hit the water. And I'd lay there for hours with the sensation as if I was still falling.

Last night I had a different dream.

I was back in that supermarket reaching for the damn pack of Oreos that started it all. I was lying in that park, underneath our tree as Freddie Wentworth told me everything a person could ever hope to share. I was back in my dorm room as my roommate's complaints about our frequent visitor rolled right off me; unable to penetrate the happiness that Freddie Wentworth surrounded me with. I was back in my house listening to Aunt Russell tell me I was too young. I was back on that night I wish more than anything I could take back and the way Freddie looked at me like nothing in the world made sense. I was back in my townhouse, watching my cell phone clatter to the floor as I listened to Lou's message.

Just like with the fountain, I was falling all over again. I'd slipped in the puddle and was now plunging free-fall into an unknown end. I was falling back into my old love for Freddie Wentworth knowing full well that it would end in another horrible collapse into that fountain. Just like it did every time I had that dream as a child, this one always ended the same. It would always end with that sickening sensation in my stomach and another sleepless night. And I continue to lay there for hours with the sensation that I'm still falling. Wishing that it had all been a dream.

Did you ever get that feeling like you're falling? I do. I get it every time I look at Freddie Wentworth.

* * *

_**Elizabeth Elliot**_

My foot swung through the cab door and landed gracefully onto the pavement. I stood resolutely, blinking angrily at the young bellhop that hadn't offered to help me out of the cab. _Asshole._ I straightened my shoulders, stretching my long legs, and swung my Fendi over my shoulder while kicking the cab door closed.

It made an odd thump and I turned to investigate. "Ow, Lizzy. Why did you just close the door on me?" My father was quickly turning purple, his angry shade, and rubbing the bare dome where his hair used to fall.

Daddy used to be rather good looking. Now he's just kind of pathetic.

"Oh. You should really be more careful, Daddy," I threw over my shoulder, smiling up at the gorgeous hotel. Now I'm as practical as the next girl, but honestly! How cliché is it to have a wedding in a hotel! If it were me, and trust me one day it will be, I'd have preferred to tie the knot on his yacht or Private Island.

Lou is, seriously, such a naïve little girl. Poor thing. Here she thinks she's got this great catch, but she's marrying a big, fat nobody. Me, on the other hand, I'll settle for nothing short of royalty. Yeah, I'd make a great Duchess.

"Lizzy!" Mary squeaks as soon as she spots me across the lobby and spends ages waddling over to me while I instructed the cab driver on the correct way to carry a Louis Vitton luggage set. I stop her before she can throw her disgustingly fat arms around me and instead air-kiss her and pat her delicately on the back, taking careful pains not to damage my recently manicured nails.

"Hel_lo_ there, Annie," I say smiling at her sweetly and air-kissing her too, having just noticed her cowering in the shadow of my exceedingly overweight youngest sister.

"Hi, Lizzy," she mutters stubbornly, too forced for my liking. It's as if there is someone standing behind her at all times with a gun pressed to her head. Does the girl really not understand the proper ways to socialize? One really shouldn't seem so pained to be around me. Nervous? Yes. Ecstatic? Yes. Pained? No.

Daddy then struts into the lobby, wheeling his suitcase behind him as if he owns the place and almost knocks into the statue of some stupid Greek god because his nose is so high up in the air. I swear to you, Daddy is so full of himself! He rolls up to the three of us, and hands his suitcase off to Annie before she can protest (as if she was going to!) and shakes hands awkwardly with Mary who looks as if she's going to cry. I turn to Annie before the waterworks can break out. "So, Annie, dear, how is the suite?"

"Suite?" The look of permanent torture is replaced momentarily with one of severe confusion.

My father chuckles good-heartedly. He sounds like some sort of stupid Santa Clause impersonator or something. I really must get away from him as quickly as possible. "Annie is joking of course. Surely you booked us a suite, Annie?"

Annie purses her lips disapprovingly. She's such a judgmental cow. And she seriously needs to rethink the way she does her hair. "We can't afford a suite."

I roll my eyes and pull out my black Visa. "Charge it Annie! I absolutely _refuse_ to share a room, yet alone a bed with you and Daddy!" I laugh as if I've just told the funniest joke, but Annie just blinks back at me and refuses to take my card. Well, I thought it was funny! "Take it Annie."

"No. You're broke."

Now apparently it's Annie that's trying to be the funny one. "Ha. Ha, Annie. Now take the card and book us a suite before I do it myself and leave you alone in that stupid room. You don't want to cost us even more money, now do you, Annie?"

Once again Mary looks as if she's about to cry. Annie just takes a deep breath before doing exactly as I bid her and stomping towards the front desk with my father's credit card.

She can be such a stubborn slut. I know she's family and all, but sometimes I really can't stand Annie.

* * *

_**Annie Elliot**_

"Do you have such a thing as a triple?"

The bartender smiles at me and kind of chuckles, or maybe he was just breathing with humor. Truth be told I'm a bit too buzzed to tell the difference or even care that there is one. "Do you want me to just give you the bottle?"

"Okay," I reply, laying down my shot glass.

"I was just kidding," he replies, this time laughing at me for sure before pouring me another shot of vodka. "And I'm afraid this will have to be your last one."

"It's only my second," I reply pouting.

He laughs again. "I fear you're a bit of a lightweight then. You're nearly falling off your stool."

I gasp, suddenly horrified. "No, no, no. I can't be drunk. I can never be drunk. They will explore my every weakness."

"I think you mean exploit," he corrects and pushes the shot towards me. I gulp, staring down at the rather large sampling of liquor.

"I'm not so sure I should have another. You drink it." I push the shot glass right back across the bar to him.

"I'm not supposed to drink on the job," he protests.

"Tom, Tom, Tom!" I proclaim trying to get his attention, but he's already watching me closely. I hold out my hands trying to simultaneously quiet his protests and steady myself. I suddenly wonder when the room started spinning so quickly and feel a bit like I'm on a Merry-go-round. I slow down the world and lock my gaze onto his eyes. "When in Rome, Tom. When in Rome," I say, trying desperately to be wise.

Now Tom is definitely, definitely laughing. "I don't think that saying applies. And my name is definitely not Tom." He smiles at me. He has a nice smile. He has dimples. Freddie has dimples. I stop myself from saying such out loud and silently kick myself. Stupid Annie. Elizabeth will be merciless when she catches me stumbling around the hotel like some kind of Sorority sister of spring break. Hell, Elizabeth would be mercilessly cruel if she caught me wandering around perfectly sober. This is a mess.

"Alright. I'll take the shot," the bartender, whose name is _not_ Tom, agrees while I mentally run through the list of insults Elizabeth is going to torture me with when she sees me. I'm going to be murdered. "But then you have to tell me why you're here getting drunk all alone. And you have to call me by my real name."

"Excellement!" I exclaim. "I will take that as compriance."

He flashes me those dimples again. "I'm going to guess that you mean compliance." He grins and throws the giant shot of vodka back, chasing it with a bit of orange juice that he then offers to me. "And it's William by the way."

"No. It's orange juice," I correct.

"No I meant my name is William." He grins again. "I like you. You're funny."

I smile back, hiding from the compliment behind my hands like a four-year-old girl. "I like you too. You're cute." Now I'm also giggling like a four-year-old girl. Alcohol and emotions do not mix. I may be giggly now, but I think it's only a matter of time before I'm crying my eyes out onto the marble bar.

He chuckles again. He does that a lot. "So are you gonna tell me what's got you chugging vodka on a Wednesday afternoon?"

I hide behind my hands again. Yep, here come the waterworks. But I push the tears into the same compartment of my mind where I keep all the years of pent-up anger and frustration. It's only a matter of time until I pull a Kaczynski and explode.

Truth be told, I really do want to talk about it. I haven't gotten to speak to anyone outside of Aunt Russell and then I was mostly just getting yelled at for being an idiot. Because I am an idiot. (Add self-deprecation to the compartment. It's filling up quickly.) "I don't think that's such a good idea."

"Oh but you promised." William cocks his head to the side, studying me. It made me feel a bit like I was talking to Sophia. "Let me guess: you're sad because you have to attend the wedding of someone younger than you while you're still single."

This time I laugh. "God I wish it were that simple." I lean in really close as if someone else in the empty bar is going to hear me. "The groom is my ex-boyfriend."

William, who had been leaning in to hear my declaration, leaned back away. "Oh I see. That is complicated. Was this a recent relationship?"

I shake my head. "It was during college. We almost got married though. I loved him. I think I might still, but I'm too scared to admit that out loud just yet." I gasp and cover my mouth, not really believing that I'd said that out loud.

He laughs again, but this time it seems a bit sadder. "Oh, I see."

I'm suddenly struck by the drastic change in his demeanor. "Oh god! I'm so pathetic aren't I?" I begin to beat my head on the marble bar like the idiot that I am.

He stops me quickly. "You're not pathetic," he denies hastily. "You're just in a sticky situation."

"You're telling me! They forced me to be a bridesmaid! Now not only do I have to witness this stupid ceremony, but I have to do it in canary yellow tulle. Plus now my sister is here and she seems to have made it her personal mission in life to make me feel as inad--inadequate as possible. Everything I say she just throws back at me like I'm some sort of… dummy-dumb-dummy."

He chuckles, but suppresses it when I glare at him murderously. I already feel like my life has become a joke; I don't need to be laughed at. "That's a very sticky situation indeed," he says, sobering into utter seriousness. He pulls out the bottle of vodka again and fills the shot glass one more time. "You get one more of these and then you're going to go sleep it off and look utterly amazing next time you see him."

"That's it? That's all you got?"

William shrugs at me. "Booze and babes. Every man's fantasy, babe. Knock 'em out. Then come tell me all about it."

I smile. "Do you think there's any way that I'll survive this weekend with any shred of dignity?"

"Nope. But that's why God invented Vodka."

And with that I throw back the shot of vodka and stumble up to my room.

* * *

_**Freddie Wentworth**_

"I absolutely hate the Navy." The words catch me by surprise and I find my ears perking up. Everyone else appears to be busy, consumed in their own little conversations and my eyes snap up from their task of pushing my food in a continuous circle around my plate and search the table for the ass hole in question. "Men should have real jobs."

I really shouldn't have been surprised. Who else would be disrespectful enough to insult my profession at my own wedding?

I find myself shouting a reply halfway down the table before I can stop myself. "You don't consider naval work to be a real job?" I ask Mr. Elliot and every other conversation that had been buzzing around me just seconds before comes to a sudden silence. I lift an eyebrow. I don't know why I'm challenging him. I don't even know why I care.

The man, in our very short, one night acquaintance five years ago had managed to offend me in every way possible. In the worst way possible. What's worse than straight up forbidding your daughter to marry someone? It's the biggest slap in the face and the closest thing to "you're not good enough" a man can ever hear. Of course, luckily for me, Mr. Elliot made sure I heard the words literally come out of his mouth as well. Just in case I didn't get the message clearly.

Not that I care.

I look over at my beautiful fiancé and try to smile at her, but she's still frowning and scowling at me from my rather loud question. In fact, the whole table is staring at me, except for Annie who's got her head propped up on the heel of her hand and is studying the tablecloth with alacrity.

"I find that to be a bit disrespectful, Mr. Elliot," I say, really just hoping to fill the rather heavy silence. "You could argue that a career path doesn't get much more _real_ than the military."

Mr. Elliot blinks at me, then purples slightly, and opens his mouth to reply. Before the words can ever escape his lips, however, Annie Elliot looks up the tablecloth with a sigh and beats her father to the punch. "I don't think my father is conveying what he means correctly," she says simply, the first real sentence I've heard her utter in five years. "The military is a difficult lifestyle for everyone, family especially."

Beside her at the table, a tall blond suddenly begins to cackle. I recognize her by her cruel laugh and reputation alone, Elizabeth Elliot. "You know what must be a tough life? Being the wife of a bartender!" she exclaims as if it's all some sort of huge joke that only she gets, sloshing her wine around her glass a bit more than unstably.

Annie reddens a dark crimson, a color I recognize from a most intimate moment five years ago, and shrinks into her chair as every eye snaps to her, except my sister who is scribbling something quickly into a notebook before joining the rest of our party and snapping her gaze to Annie.

But it's Elizabeth that speaks: "I mean really, Annie, if you'd rather spend your time flirting with the help, don't let us get in the way." She's cackling again, and I grip my fork in outrage. I don't know if it's the fact that I can't stand the mere sound of her voice, or I just hate her on principle alone, but I really, really don't like Elizabeth Elliot.

"Lizzy!" Charlie hisses, alternating between shooting Elizabeth angry, pointed looks that seem to go right over her head, and worried, sympathetic looks towards Annie.

Annie, despite her sudden tint of tomato, holds her head in the air and states quite plainly, as if suddenly gripped by a force completely outside of her control, "Elizabeth, I don't think it's any of your business who I associate with, yet alone an aspect of my life that needs to be broadcast across the table." The bright pink doesn't drain from her cheeks, but she suddenly smiles graciously, holds up her glass of wine, and grins at Lou. "This is Louisa's day, and I'd prefer if conversation did not revolve around _my_ love life."

I almost want to stand up and give her a big hug, or maybe just hold her for a brief second. The compulsion grips me so unexpectedly and I wonder what the hell I'm doing. With all of this.

But before I can think too hard about it, it hits me hard between the chest; the sudden realization that even if Annie stands up for herself every once in a while, it doesn't stop the fact that, when it comes to the Elliots, there's always another fight just around the corner. And Annie Elliot didn't stand up for herself when it counted. Or maybe it hurts even more to think that our relationship just wasn't worth the effort to her.

"Annie," Mr. Elliot slurs, somewhere between slightly tipsy and totally plastered, "you should just quit your job and come be Lizzy and I's servant. Who needs stupid old teachers anyway?"

And thus another fight ensues, and Annie sinks right back into her seat.

"Mr. Elliot, I hardly think Annie needs to be doing any chores," Harv says, winking at me and quickly changing the conversation before this can all begin again.

Mr. Elliot opens his mouth again. "That's not—" The rest of his sentence is drowned out by an unnecessarily loud conversation between the maid of honor and Mrs. Musgrove about the season finale of _Army Wives_. I play dumb even though I know they're talking over him on purpose to prevent anyone from hearing. I just don't care enough to fight with Mr. Elliot and I breathe a sigh of relief that I'm marrying a Musgrove instead.

* * *

_**Louisa Musgrove**_

I turn the corner and start down the aisle, my hands clutching an invisible bouquet of flowers and smiling down the aisle. I smile for a grand total of seven seconds, seven seconds that are supposed to be ALL about me, before I realize that everyone in the entire church is staring off into nothingness. Not a single one of them is looking at _me. _ Not even that stupid fiancé of mine!!!

I am suddenly gripped with pure unadulterated outrage. _How dare they_? I grip my imaginary flowers. I did my hair for this stupid rehearsal and everything, the least they could do would be to watch me with sickening envy. But instead they're all wrapped up in the spectacle of my sobbing and overweight sister-in-law clutching that stupid brother of mine and wailing like a whale about how much he hates her.

Oh how I hate the Elliot sisters! For the second time in one night, I find myself being pushed from the limelight because the Elliot girls just can't help but make a spectacle out of everything they do. I never should have asked them to be in the wedding! I blame my stupid brother for marrying one of those cows.

This is supposed to be about me! Me, me, me, me, ME!

And with that thought, a glorious plan strikes me smack dab in the middle of my brain. A wonderful, genius plan that will help make sure everyone is focused on me again. It will surely get everyone's attention.

I suddenly begin to rush down the aisle, pretending for everyone's sake that I'm merely worried about my whale-ish relative. In my hurry to "check-on" Mary, my foot catches on one of the pews, and, according perfectly to plan, I tumble horribly onto the floor of the church, sprawled out for all the world to see and dote upon. Everyone rushes to my side and showers me with their undivided attention as I clutch my leg in utter agony.

However, not according to plan, that "utter agony" isn't faked as a ruse to garner the attention that should have been mine from the beginning. No, no. That utter agony is real and prominent and I know within an instant what has gone wrong.

"It's broken! It's broken!" I wail, screaming for my life. There can't be _anything_ more painful than this! There truly cant! They all surround me and my fiancé lifts me over his shoulder carefully and carries me to the parking lot as Annie Elliot clears the way and quickly dials the hospital.

And as I finally receive everyone's attention, I suddenly realize exactly what I've done.

* * *

_**Annie Elliot**_

It has been one of the longest days of my life, and as I poke my head around the curtain in Louisa's room at the hospital, I contemplate the entirety of my day. Horribly insulted by my obnoxious sister by noon. Drunk by two. Flirted with a bartender somewhere in there. Slept 'til five. Insulted _and_ embarrassed during dinner. Witnessed Mary's breakdown during the rehearsal. And now I am watching Louisa Musgrove sob from the confines of a hospital bed at 11 at night.

I step through the curtain, my brain switching modes quickly and suddenly very worried about her. Sure, I hate what Louisa Musgrove means to me, but she's done nothing wrong. She's just a girl who wants to marry a boy. She doesn't even know how much that affects me and she deserves to be happy. Not crying alone in a hospital late at night.

"Lou, it's gonna be ok," I say, trying to be reassuring as I grip her hand and attempt a smile.

"No, no it's not, Annie," she snaps through her tears. She gulps a few deep breaths, wipes her eyes and suddenly smiles up at me apologetically. "I'm sorry, Annie, you don't deserve me yelling at you."

"It's all right. I understand that you're upset."

She sniffles again and her eyes water uncontrollably, but remarkably she doesn't cry.

"How are you feeling?" I ask as she tries to get a grip on her emotions.

"How do you think, Annie?" she snaps again before repeating another apology. "I'm sorry, Annie. It's just I had certain expectations about how this day was going to be. I'd been imagining it since I was a kid and never in a thousand years did I picture myself in a cast while I walked down the aisle!"

She's gulping on her tears again. I can't help it, I feel incredibly bad for her. The compassion and empathy grips my body almost as badly as it does every time I watch one of those commercials for the starving children in Ethiopia or wherever.

"I can't marry Frederick now!" she sobs.

For the first time in three days I realize that this is Louisa's day, not mine. This is about her life with Freddie—Fredrick Wentworth. Not mine. And I haven't even stopped to see how that's going for her. She put me in her wedding, and I never did a single thing to help her with said wedding. I'm the worst, coerced bridesmaid ever.

"What? Yes you can," I protest. It isn't even against my will, but still it causes me sharp pain to do it. "You are still going to marry Freddi—Frederick because he still loves you and no amount of broken bones are going to change that."

Lou wipes her eyes again. "Yo—you think?"

I don't even hesitate. I don't allow myself to think it over. I just nod resolutely. "I know. Don't let him slip through your fingers for anything. Especially not this. If you still want to marry him, then you should do it no matter the cost."

Lou smiles feebly. "Geeze, Annie, I wish you'd been around when I was dress shopping. You could have talked my parents into buying me anything I wanted. Maybe then I'd have a tiara."

We both laugh. "Are there any last minutes plans you need me to work on?" I ask, yet again unable to stop myself.

Lou's entire face lights up. "Actually! I'm so glad you asked." And with that she pulls a giant binder off of her side table and begins flipping through it and assigning me tasks in rapid fire.

And that's when it hits me that I just agreed to plan Louisa Musgrove's wedding to the man I love. Just when I thought it couldn't get any sicker…

* * *

_I'm sorry it has been an eternity. And then I don't even like this chapter very much. I'm hoping it'll be a lot for the next one and way easier to write. I swear it won't be another year and a half! Please forgive me if you're still reading this!_


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